One Day Without Love
by ProcrastinatingPalindrome
Summary: A series of oneshots about Russia and Catherine the Great. Chapter 3 - In which Russia is forced to wear a dress and isn't at all happy about it.
1. Blood

"You are acting like a child, Ivan."

"That is not fair, Elizabeth. I have done nothing."

"Precisely. Dear Sophie has been here for months and you haven't said a single word to her yet. She'll be the Tsarina one day, once she marries Peter and he assumes the throne. You ought to at least introduce yourself."

Russia picked at the ends of his scarf and grumbled under his breath, too quiet for his empress to hear. He wasn't looking forward to the day Peter was the Tsar, not at all. That stupid boy probably needed help putting on his own boots. There was always the slim chance that he would grow up and be a fine ruler one day, but in the mean time Russia was still crossing his fingers that a sudden plague or freak accident would take that wretched little boy out.

That was part of the reason he didn't like the little Prussian bride-to-be; Peter seemed to be very fond of her. Russia had a hard time imagining that anything Peter liked was good. After all, most of what Peter liked was Prussian. That proved Peter had bad taste.

Sophie Friederike Auguste von Anhalt-Zerbst-Dornburg. Maybe Elizabeth and most of the court had been charmed by her, but Russia didn't see her appeal. Granted, he had only ever watched her from across the room, a tiny little figure mingling among adults with a grace and ease that seemed out of place on one so young...and from such an unextraordinary family too.

She wasn't even that pretty. Russia had seen the portrait of her that was sent to Elizabeth, and even the artist wasn't enough of a liar to try to hide Sophie's pointed chin and long nose (though Russia was willing admit that he was in no position to criticize anyone's nose when his own was so unattractively large.)

"You don't have a good reason to dislike her," Elizabeth said, in the sharp voice that said she'd be losing her temper soon. Her tone brought Russia's eyes up from the frayed ends of his scarf. "It was either a Prussian princess or a Saxon, and I've said it a hundred times: I won't have a Saxon!" Her voice softened slightly after that outburst. "I've spoken to Count Lestocq about this, and he agrees that it would be to your..._our_ advantage to improve relations with Prussia."

"I know," Russia agreed sourly. "But I still don't like it."

"You have plenty of time to get used to it," Elizabeth said with a air of finality. "And you should get used to your future Tsarina too. Go speak to her when she's well again. You may find that you like her once you get to know one another better."

"Not likely. May I leave now? I will go talk to the girl, if that is what you wish."

"Not now. She's still very sick. The poor thing hasn't been well in weeks."

"All the more reason to keep my visit very short, da? I will behave myself."

"If you're going to insist on this...she seemed well enough for a short visit yesterday. Just see to it that you don't disturb her."

"I won't," Russia promised, bowing politely to his empress before leaving her chamber. Sophie's sick room was a good distance away from Elizabeth's, but Russia knew the palace well enough to navigate it in his sleep, and the walk was a short one. He hesitated outside her door, hearing voices chatting from within in German.

"-were told to put your books away, Princess," a man's voice said, patient but long suffering.

"I just wanted to study a little today. I'm feeling much better now!" A girl's voice, Sophie.

"You wouldn't have fallen ill in the first place if you hadn't been staying up all night to study. You don't need to be in such a hurry to learn Russian."

"But I _want_ to learn, as fast as I can. I want to be Russian."

Well. This was news to Russia. He had assumed the girl's illness was the result of her lack of resistance to the cold weather. She had been bundled in furs and shivering when she first arrived in Moscow. He thought she was just too delicate for his winter. But no, she had made herself sick by working too hard to learn a language...to learn _his _language.

He cracked open the door as Sophie said, "Dobraye ootro. Minya zavoot Sophie. How do I sound, doctor?"

"You have an accent," Russia said from the door, making girl and doctor whip around in surprise.

Sophie looked even less lovely than before. Her dark hair clung damply to her forehead, and she was pale under the flush of fever. Her mouth worked as she tried to come up with the correct words and finally said, "Dobraye ootro. Um...kak vas zavoot?"

"We can speak in German, if you like," Russia allowed, switching into the language but not answering her question. "Is hard enough to learn a new language when you are healthy, da?"

Sophie sighed in frustration and dropped her eyes to the open book in her lap, where she had been practicing writing the Cyrillic alphabet on a blank page. "I'm sorry. I had hoped to learn how to speak Russian faster, but-" The words broke off into a coughing fit and the doctor shooed Russia out of his way as he hurried to the girl's side, helping her to sit up until the fit had passed. There was a thin trickle of blood down her chin by the time she caught her breath.

"Excuse me," she said faintly as the doctor dabbed the blood away and retrieved her book, which had fallen to the floor. "Have we met before? I-I feel that we have, but I can't recall your name..."

"We have not met yet. That is why I came to visit. It seems it slipped my mind to introduce myself," Russia lied easily. "Ivan Braginski. I am an...adviser to the empress. It's a pleasure to meet you, Princess."

"A p-pleasure to meet you too," Sophie croaked, choking on another cough.

"We need to bleed you now, Princess," the doctor said firmly, digging into his bag and producing a surgical knife, bowl and bandages. "That should help with the inflammation in your lungs."

Sophie's long nose wrinkled, and her fingers tightened slightly over the bedsheets.

"Are you afraid? Do you not like blood?" Russia asked bluntly, noticing her sudden anxiety.

"I'm not afraid of blood," Sophie said, watching the doctor prepare the knife warily. "But I don't like the weakness that comes afterward."

"Ah, I hate that too! Bad enough to be sick, and then they make you even dizzier, da?"

"Maybe you would like to hold her hand through it, sir?" the doctor asked. "Since you both seem to have such distaste for the procedure."

"That's not necessary," Sophie insisted, composing her expression. The only thing that gave away her nervousness was the slight furrow of her eyebrows. "I'm sure he has other business to attend to-"

"I am not so busy that I can't spare a few more minutes," Russia interrupted, taking a seat by her bed. The corners of Sophie's mouth quirked up and her eyes warmed into the smile. Russia decided that her chin wasn't really so pointed, and the size of her nose wasn't all that noticeable from this angle.

Her tiny hand was engulfed in his own, little fingers curling against his palm as the doctor punctured the artery. She hadn't been lying when she said that she wasn't afraid of blood; she calmly watched the spurting stream as it flowed out of her arm and into the bowl.

"Can...can you take out my German blood?" she mumbled thickly to the doctor when the bowl was almost full. "I want you to drain all the German blood in me, so only my Russian blood is left."

Something flip-flopped in Russia's stomach, but it was too late to ask Sophie to elaborate; she was already sagging against the pillows, slipping out of consciousness. Why did she say such things? Why did she want so desperately to be Russian?

"She says the oddest things sometimes, doesn't she?" the doctor said with a quiet chuckle as he tightly bandaged the little wound on the unconscious girl's arm. "She seems to really love this country."

"Why?" Russia asked quietly, half to the doctor and half to Sophie. "She has only been here a few months. How can she love someone-...something she barely knows?"

"Maybe it was love at first sight?" the doctor said, laughing to himself as he left the room. It was only a joke to that man, but Russia stayed seated by Sophie's bed, watching her face as though it could give him an answer. Some time passed before he let go of her hand.

Historical Notes:

Catherine the Great (whose original name was Sophie Friederike Auguste von Anhalt-Zerbst-Dornburg) came to Russia in 1744 to marry Empress Elizabeth's nephew Peter, who would take the throne as Peter III after Elizabeth's death. Elizabeth decided on Sophie because some of her advisers convinced her that it would be good to strengthen ties with Prussia and France through that marriage. There were many in the court who strongly opposed this, and wanted Peter to marry the Saxon princess, Princess Mariana, in order to unite Russia, Saxony, Austria, England and Holland against Prussia and France. Fredrick II of Prussia wanted to avoid that, so he encouraged Sophie's mother to agree to let her daughter become one of the marriage candidates. Count Lestocq, a Frenchman who helped bring Elizabeth to power, also supported Sophie as Peter's future wife. Both Elizabeth and Peter liked Sophie initially, but unfortunately for her, that was not to last.

Sophie was surprisingly sharp even at her young age (she was only 14 when she arrived in Russia) and was very devoted to learning Russian, converting to the Orthodox religion and basically 'Russifying' herself as soon as possible. She started staying up late to practice the language, and ended up with pneumonia as a result. The court really softened up to her a lot after they heard that she had gotten sick from her late night Russian study sessions. She was bled a ridiculous number of times over the course of her illness, which her mother freaked out about because her own brother had died from being bled too much (according to her, anyway.) Allegedly, she asked a doctor to remove all her German blood so the only blood in her would be Russian blood.

The title is a reference to a quote by Catherine the Great, in which she said, "I cannot live one day without love."


	2. Faith

The incense that filled the church was starting to make Russia's nose itch. He screwed up his face, fighting back a sneeze. He loved the church, he really did, but the incense always tickled his nose. He liked everything else, though. He liked the music, and the art, and the feeling of peace. The church was a calm place, except when he went to confession. His stomach would always churn a bit, right before he had to lay out his latest sins. He'd feel better afterward to have it off his shoulders, but there was always the bit of fear that God would finally get tired of Russia and refuse to forgive him anymore. He wasn't sure what would happen then.

This was a special day: the day Sophie converted to the Orthodox church, and there was even more incense than usual for the occasion. The tickle finally overpowered Russia, and he muffled a sneeze behind his hand. Elizabeth stopped dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief long enough to turn and give him a sharp look.

Sophie, thankfully, wasn't interrupted by the noise. She didn't so much as glance his way. She was still perfectly composed and focused, apparently too absorbed in the process of her conversion to notice the sound or care that every eye was fixed on her.

Sophie looked very pretty in red. Her dress was almost exactly the same as Elizabeth's, an honor for the girl, but Sophie wore the color better. Russia always thought red was a nice color for women to wear. Red was the color of passion and life, and Sophie looked so very alive at that moment. Her voice rang out, clear and unwavering, through the church as she recited the creed of her new faith. Elizabeth sniffed quietly and continued wiping her eyes. Russia could never understand why people cried when they were happy or touched. He never cried when he was happy. Tears were for sad times, weren't they? But Elizabeth often teared up at happy things. It seemed strange.

Sophie continued to recite the words she had memorized, and didn't trip up once. Her German accent was still thick, but her pronunciation had improved somewhat. Russia wondered if it was because of him. He had gotten in the habit of helping her out a little whenever he noticed her studying, ever since they first met months ago in her sick room. Nothing too much, he wasn't her teacher...but there was no harm in correcting her sentences and fixing a misspelled word, was there?

Sophie stayed calm and dignified through the entire ceremony, and kept her head up and her back straight even as she exited the church at the end. Ah, but she wasn't Sophie anymore, was she? Now she was baptized Catherine Alexeyevna. Names didn't have to mean much. Russia's human name was Ivan, just like the heroes in fairy tales, but he had never had an real adventure, or seen a fire bird, or married a beautiful princess _or_ a frog princess. A name was just something to wear, like a coat...but was there any difference between Sophie and Catherine? Suddenly he was unsure.

The long ceremony had left him hungry and eager to join in the banquet that followed, but first he wanted to find So...._Catherine_, to offer his congratulations. To his surprise, he found her wandering through the palace halls on her own, heading not towards the banquet but back to her own room.

"You did very well today," he said without preamble, causing her to spin around sharply to face him. Her face relaxed into a smile when she saw him, and Russia could feel his face shifting into a matching expression.

"Always sneaking up on me," she giggled.

"Maybe you ought to be more alert, da? What if I was an assassin, or one of those ninja people they have in Japan?"

That got another quiet laugh out of her. "I will keep your advice in mind. You haven't failed me so far."

"When have I given you advice?" Russia asked, frowning as he tried to remember. He hadn't done much for her, had he?

"Why, almost every time I've seen you lately! 'You have misspelled zdravstvujte, Sophie. Be careful of how you pronounce R's, Sophie.' I thank you, truly. It is good to have one more person on my side."

"But you aren't Sophie any more, da?" Russia said, slightly caught off guard by her sincerity. "It's Catherine now. Catherine." He paused, noticed how she smiled when he said her new name, and repeated it once more: "_Catherine_."

"Are you practicing so you don't forget?" she giggled. "If you are to call me Catherine, then I think I should be allowed to call you Ivan. Is that all right? We are friends now, aren't we?"

Ah, she kept doing this. Kept saying things that he had no answer to. "D-da, friends," he managed awkwardly.

She beamed up at him. "Ivan. I'll practice saying it too. Ivan. Ivan."

"There is no need to practice that. That name isn't so important. Names are just things to call people, da?"

"I suppose so," Catherine sighed thoughtfully. "There isn't much difference between Sophie and Catherine, is there?"

"Catherine is more Russian."

"Only more?"

"Da, and you'll be even more Russian tomorrow. And your accent will fade in time. I think your German blood will disappear on its own before too long."

"I hope it will soon. I don't think I'll be satisfied until I'm completely Russian."

"I-I don't understand that," he confessed, looking away. Her dark blue eyes had become almost uncomfortably intense. "Why you want to be Russian so badly. I don't understand it."

"It isn't easy for me to explain either," she said quietly. "But I have always felt that Russia was where I really belonged. Even back in Prussia, when mother and father were trying to decide where I should be married off too...I wanted the marriage that took me to Russia. It felt like the country was calling to me."

"I'm...I am...sure that...Russia wants you to be here too." Russia swallowed hard; his mouth had gone dry.

"I hope you are right. I would hate to disappoint her," Catherine sighed, and Russia just barely stopped himself from correcting the gender. The young woman seemed to slump a little, the exact opposite of the proud strength she showed back in the church.

"Were you heading back to your chamber, Catherine?" Russia asked. Half of him wanted to end this slightly awkward conversation so he could go to the banquet...but only half.

"I've already spoken to the Empress about it, and she agreed that I could just go to bed early tonight. I need to be well rested for the...the wedding tomorrow."

A shadow flickered across her face, like the flash of anxiety before the doctor bled her when she was ill.

"You aren't excited to be married?"

"No! No, of course I am! I will be that much closer to becoming Russian then, won't I? Peter is a Grand Duke, and I'll be a Grand Duchess of Russia after tomorrow."

"And what about your husband to be? You are marrying Peter, not Russia."

That made her pause, clasp her hands together and unclasp them again. "I hope that he will grow to love me," she said slowly.

She said nothing about loving Peter in return, and Russia wished he could say that he didn't blame her. Peter was a horrible, stupid little brat, still playing with dolls even at his age. He was hardly the kind of man any woman would dream of marrying. But Peter was the heir to the throne, and there were some things that shouldn't be said out loud, at least not when word could get back to Elizabeth's ears.

"Maybe you should just go to bed now, Catherine," he said. Useless advice, but he had nothing else. "The morning is wiser than the evening. You will be strong in the morning."

"I will," she agreed, smiling wearily and turning away. "I will be fine," she said firmly, maybe more to herself than to Russia. "I am where I want to be. That is what matters. There is no other country I would rather be a part of."

Something warm bloomed through his chest as he watched her walk away. It felt nice to be so wanted. Unfamiliar, but nice. Of course there were plenty of his children who loved him, but it was strange to see an outsider who wanted to be with him so much.

No, he was twisting the thoughts up in his head again. There was a difference, a big difference, between wanting to live on his land and speak his language and be one of his people...and wanting to spend time with _him_. It wasn't the same thing at all.

And yet...Catherine called him her friend.

Russia shook his head. He could worry about all that later. For now, there was a banquet to attend. There would probably be vodka. That thought sped up his pace, and he quickly made his way back to the festivities.

Historical Notes: Sophie converted to the Orthodox faith on June 28, 1744, and was married to Peter the day after. She was baptized as Catherine Alexeyevna, which was a bit weird. She could have been baptized as Sophia, but it reminded Empress Elizabeth about Peter the Great's half sister, Regent Sophia, who was thrown in a convent when she got too power hungry. Her patronymic name, Alexeyevna, was also unusual. Her father's name was Christian Augustus, but Catherine Chistianovna or Catherine Augustovna sounded too foreign. It's interesting that Catherine's father was left out of her new name; he was Lutheran, and extremely against her conversion to Orthodoxy.


	3. Dress

Russia knew it was important to learn how his various rulers ticked. Learn their strengths, learn their weaknesses, learn their unpleasant habits and tendencies so as to better avoid them. He was always very careful to never provoke his fourth Ivan's violent temper. He learned to not argue with Peter (his first, and greatest) about beards. And now with Elizabeth, it was vital to always make plans on Tuesday. They had to be good, convincing plans too. If he could come up with business outside Saint Petersburg, all the better. Lying didn't work, because Elizabeth somehow always saw through it. No, he needed a true, legitimate excuse for why he was too busy on Tuesday evenings to attend her masquerades.

He had been blessed with a lucky streak lately. He managed to avoid Tuesdays for a solid month. Perhaps the luck had lulled him into a false sense of security, because he failed to plan for the _next_ Tuesday. He realized that careless error when Elizabeth approached him on Monday asking if he was coming to the Tuesday masquerade. And fool that he was, he had no excuse. He was trapped.

Russia honestly couldn't understand why Elizabeth loved these strange masquerades. If the theme had been anything else he might not have minded, but...Elizabeth's Tuesday masquerades were special. All the women were required to dress as men, and the men as woman. That was the rule. No one was exempt, not even Elizabeth's own nation.

With no way out (and it truly wasn't worth fighting with her over it,) he submitted to his fate the following day and tried to think happy thoughts while a servant helped him into a corset. As if the gown Elizabeth had ordered just for him wasn't humiliating enough, he had to wear the torturous underthings too. How did women stand such things? For that matter, how did they breathe? There didn't seem to be enough room in Russia's chest for ribs and lungs after he had been laced up, and even then he was assured that it was no where near as tight as the most fashionable ladies wore them! And people still wondered why he avoided the fashion trends, when half of them seemed out to kill the wearer.

The dress followed the corset and petticoats, and much as Russia loathed to have someone present to watch him struggle and wiggle his way into the thing, he had to admit that he couldn't have put it on without help. Women's clothes were so horrifically complicated, and he was afraid the fine material would tear under his clumsy hands. No matter how much he hated it, it _was_ a well made dress, tailored to fit him perfectly, and in a shade of purple that Elizabeth told him matched his eyes. A light weight scarf of a paler shade of purple was included after Russia had flatly refused to go out with his neck exposed. Add a pair of satin slippers and a wig that was very nearly the same color as his real hair to the ensemble, and he was nearly done with _that_ stage of the torture. The last step was paints and powders for his face. Rouge had been added to his checks too, but there was little point to that when his face was already as red as Ukraine's homemade borscht. He glared at his reflection in the provided mirror, realized that he was pouting and pulled his lower lip back in until his expression looked less petulant and more quietly seething. It must have worked, because the servant hastily excused himself from the room and fled. Russia sighed wearily (which was no easy feat while wearing a corset) and looked back at the sorry sight in the mirror. He knew perfectly well that he wasn't a very attractive man, but he made a hideous woman. Every part of him was just too broad, and even the corset wasn't enough to make his body curve like a woman's should. It didn't help matters that he was...big. The irritating bit of extra weight that he could never lose was hidden easily enough in a man's clothes, but there was no disguising it in his dress. He gave the squishy part of his arm a mournful pinch and thought about feigning a sudden illness.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself by being late, Russia shuffled his way to the hall, trying to ignore the feeling of air between his legs. Few guests had arrived, and they all looked uncomfortable. Only Elizabeth seemed pleased with the spectacle. She was radiant in her ornate coat and breeches. Russia went through the usual motions of greeting her and complimenting her clothes before retreating to a corner where he could hopefully remain until the masquerade was over. More and more guests arrived, laughing sheepishly at their ridiculous wardrobes. Russia tried to make himself smaller. He had spent so much of his childhood wishing he could be big and tall, but now that he had his wish he found height and size to be overrated. It was handy if he wanted to intimidate someone, but it also made him stand out when he _didn't want_ _to stand out_. He was at least a head over everyone in the room. Hiding was near impossible, unless he found something to crouch behind or duck under (which would be difficult when wearing a hoop skirt anyway.) He would have to endure the fact that everyone could easily see him, and no doubt they were secretly laughing-

"Good evening, fair lady."

Russia whirled around, almost tripped over his own feet and looked down to see Catherine grinning playfully up at him as she stooped into a little bow. Russia saw Elizabeth watching them out of the corner of his eye, and quickly bobbed a curtsy that sent another wave of blood rushing up into his face.

"Don't tease, Catherine," he moaned. Elizabeth was far enough away to be unable to overhear any complaining, but he kept his voice low all the same.

"Who was teasing? The dress matches your eyes perfectly." Catherine rubbed her chin thoughtfully, nodding her approval at the color. Catherine looked remarkably good as a man, almost as good as Elizabeth. She resembled a beautiful young man in her breeches and waistcoat, and her chest was still small enough to be easily hidden by a loose shirt and some binding beneath. It hit Russia rather suddenly that he shouldn't have been thinking about Catherine's breasts when she was standing within arms length, and he shook his head to dislodge the thought. The movement almost knocked his wig off.

"Your Russian has gotten very good," he said quickly to change the subject.

"Truly?" The compliment made Catherine's entire face light up. "Don't say it just to be kind, please. Flattery won't help me improve."

"It is not flattery if it is true. And your German accent grows fainter by the day."

The girl really did have a lovely smile. One could criticize her chin or her nose, but her smile was too radiant to find fault with.

"The empress has mentioned it to me as well," Russia continued, eager to keep the smile from vanishing. "She said that you have learned our language remarkably fast. She is very pleased with you."

To his dismay, Catherine's smile did fade slightly. "I'm afraid you haven't heard the latest, then. She isn't pleased with me at all these days. She scolded me the other day for riding my horse like a man." The smile turned bitter. "She is worried riding like that will...damage me. So I won't be able to have children and produce an heir."

And that was the most important thing, wasn't it? Princesses existed to be married off and produce heirs, and little else. No one cared if they didn't loved the man they were married to. No one cared if they weren't happy. It seemed a tragedy that someone like Catherine was chained down to such a life.

"Never mind that," Catherine said hastily, glancing briefly in Elizabeth's direction. "I don't think I've asked but..." She turned back, her nose wrinkled slightly into a frown. "Ivan, what is your position here? Do you have a title?"

"Does it matter what I am?"

"No, but I was curious. You seem close to the empress, so I assumed that you must be someone fairly important. But I've never seen your name on any official documents, and I've never heard you announced with a title-"

"Let us say that I am a simple adviser, for now," Russia interrupted hastily. So Catherine had noticed that something was strange about him. He shouldn't have been surprised. She was almost unnervingly observant at times.

Catherine grinned crookedly. "More secrets, then? I won't allow you to keep secrets from me when I'm the empress."

"You are an ambitious little one, aren't you? Very well, I will tell you all my secrets when you are empress."

"Do you promise? I will be most displeased if you go back on your word." Catherine's eyes were clear and unyielding.

"I promise." And he did. He always made it his business to tell every freshly coronated emperor and empress about what he really was. Peter was next in line for the throne, of course, but there could be little harm in letting his wife in on the secret too, when that day came.

Catherine's smile had thankfully returned at that. "I will hold you to it. And now, I'm afraid the empress has been watching us for a while now. We ought to dance, I think."

Russia's face tried to turn deathly pale and beat red at the same time, and ended up blotchy. "No. _No._ No, no, _no. _I refuse."

"It's what she expects," Catherine protested, seizing Russia's hand and tugging at it. "And I can't afford to upset her any more. She'll be glad to see us playing along tonight. And they're playing a waltz now. A waltz won't be too difficult, will it?"

Russia wanted to gather up his skirts and flee the room, but Catherine's slim hands held more power than he gave them credit for, and he found himself being helplessly pulled out of his corner. Giving in, he let his hands hover awkwardly before resting his left stiffly on her shoulder. She giggled lightly and let one tiny hand curve around his hip, grasping his right hand in her left. Their difference in height made the position awkward, but Catherine only smiled and said, "Follow my lead."

Historical Notes:

Empress Elizabeth did indeed have masquerades on Tuesdays where the women dressed as men and the men dressed as women. Catherine didn't like them, but since she wanted to stay on the temperamental empress' good side, she tried to act like she enjoyed them. Later when she became empress, she did away with the practice.

Catherine loved horses, and rode for fun almost her entire life. She preferred to ride like a man instead of a woman, which caused a bit of a stir at court and angered Elizabeth, who thought that might have been part of the reason why Catherine hadn't gotten pregnant yet. Although Catherine was blamed not producing an heir yet, the fault lay with Peter, who had yet to consummate their union at that point because of a physical deformity that prevented him from doing the deed (although the deformity was one that could have been fixed fairly easily with surgery, but Peter was terrified of going under the knife.) Catherine's love of horses would much later lead to the infamous rumor that she was killed while trying to have sex with a horse (according to the story, the horse was supported above her with ropes, but the ropes broke and the horse crushed her to death.) In reality, she died of a stroke. No horses were involved.

Catherine often thought of herself as being more of a man than a woman. In her own words, "I was a true and faithful knight, with a mind infinitely more masculine than feminine."


End file.
